Hurva Synagogue, Jerusalem
July 20, 11:40 a.m.
The paper was thick, heavy vellum. Its edges were roughly cut, as if it had been ripped from its source. Herzog had stuck pins into each of the corners, holding the vellum in place. It sat on a piece of black velvet, tacked to a wooden board. Around Herzog, the other members of the Rabbinate Council leaned in as close as possible without pushing against Herzog’s shoulders.
“The Gaon was well-versed in Torah codes,” said Herzog’s colleague. “Our challenge now is to determine which of the codes was used for this document.”
“But what is this at the bottom?” asked Herzog. “Certainly not Torah code. And these two lines of symbols … what could they signify?”
“I don’t know, Israel. But let’s examine the message first. Perhaps the code from the Gaon’s first message will give us the key.”
US Embassy, Tel Aviv
July 20, 12:15 p.m.
Normal business at the US embassy had come to a standstill a few minutes before noon—a pause in life that was repeated in homes, schools, businesses, and government offices across the Middle East.
Except for the security details, nearly all the staff of the US Mission to Israel were in the cafeteria, huddled around a flat screen TV as events that would redeem the past, bring upheaval to the present, and profoundly alter the future unfolded in Amman, Jordan.
Ambassador Joseph Atticus Cleveland sat at a table near the front, some of his key staff at the same table, others scattered among the rest of the embassy’s personnel. Cleveland wanted to be with his people and not sequestered in his office. This moment was life changing, particularly for those who served their country overseas in the diplomatic corps. He wanted his team to draw strength from his calm demeanor in the face of rampant uncertainty. Very soon, he would need them all … at the top of their game.
They were watching the international transmission of CNN, which showed a large formal meeting room, ornately decorated. The room was dominated by a long, elliptical table. Along the far side of the table sat ten men. Nine of them were the rulers or leaders of Middle Eastern countries—six in elegant, ornate versions of the traditional Arab dress of kaftan and keffiyeh and three in expensive, hand-made Western suits. The tenth man was the head of the Palestinian Authority, soon to be leader of the nation of Palestine.
The CNN transmission regularly shifted to different perspectives, at times showing the entire group, at other times focusing on the speaker … or the reactions of those listening to the speaker. At the moment, King Abdullah of Saudi Arabia was wrapping up the opening statements made by each of the nine participants.
Royal Palace, Amman, Jordan
July 20, 12:17 p.m.
“So, we come to this historic moment of peace,” said King Abdullah, “a moment that many thought would never occur. A moment when all the sons of Abraham are joined together in the unity of the Ishmael Covenant … a covenant era that will heal wounds, end conflict, and usher in a new age of cooperation, security, and prosperity. The details of the two documents that create this covenant will be distributed after the signing. But these are the salient points.”
Glancing up from behind his wire-rimmed glasses, King Abdullah looked directly into the camera. Furrows of wrinkles radiated from his deeply set eyes, fleshy bags drooping down to his cheeks. His beard was white, and his back was stooped, but his eyes … his eyes burned with the fire of a thousand suns. Abdullah was a king.
He picked up a piece of paper that rested on the table to his right, between him and the prime minister of Israel, David Meir.
“First, the Arab nations seated here today,” said Abdullah, “will join with our brothers in Egypt, who years ago took this step, in signing a Declaration of Peace with the state of Israel. This Declaration of Peace specifically recognizes the validity of the state of Israel and opens the door to full diplomatic recognition and relations between all the nations represented here. Second, the nations seated here today will enter into a mutual defense treaty with Israel, encompassing the entire Middle East in a blanket of security and cooperation, each of us pledging to defend each other from any act of aggression.”
King Abdullah sat in the middle of the assembled leaders. Meir was on his right, King Hussein II of Jordan on his left. Spread out on either side were the rulers from Egypt, Oman, Kuwait, United Arab Emirates, Bahrain, and Qatar, along with the head of the Palestinian Authority. Abdullah turned to his right. “Mr. Prime Minister, all of us extend to you our thanks for accepting this covenant and for your courageous willingness to also take this bold step for peace.”
Meir inclined his head toward King Abdullah. “Thank you.” He turned immediately to address the cameras directly. “Two generations of Israelis have lived in hope for such a day as this, a day when Israel’s borders and its future are secure not only by means of its military strength, but also by means of its peaceful coexistence with its neighbors. One of the critical points that allowed this peace covenant to become a reality was a willingness of former adversaries to work together—particularly the emissaries of Israel, Jordan, and the Palestinian Authority. As part of the peace covenant, both Israel and Jordan have contributed territory for the creation of an independent state of Palestine. Jerusalem remains united under the sovereignty of Israel and will become our nation’s capital, but the territory provided to Palestine includes a corner of East Jerusalem to become the Palestinian capital. Within twelve months, if all the elements of the covenant are ratified and working effectively, Israel will begin dismantling its West Bank separation barrier. And there is also a significant concession on the part of Jordan that will satisfy the hope of many religious Jews.”
Meir looked to his left, past the Saudi monarch, to Jordanian King Hussein II.
Western-educated and relatively young compared to his counterparts, Jordan’s king was a handsome, dapper man of the twenty-first century. Clean shaven, wearing a suit of Indian silk tailored in London, Hussein II looked more like a Hollywood movie star than a Middle Eastern monarch. Today he also wore a somber and solemn countenance.
“With great hope, and in recognition of the courage displayed by King Abdullah and Prime Minister Meir,” the king announced, “the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan will renounce any claim to territory that came under the control of Israel as a result of the sixty-seven conflict, some of that territory which will now become Palestine. Jordan will also remove the authority of the Waqf as the ruling body over the Temple Mount in Jerusalem, creating a new authority of joint responsibility with Israel. Lastly, in association with my Arab brothers, we have offered Israel the opportunity to erect a platform adjacent to the Temple Mount, attached to the Mount at, or near, the Eastern Gate. This new platform is intended to be used for construction of a place of worship for the Jewish people … a temple in Jerusalem.”
The Cardo, Jerusalem
July 20, 12:19 p.m.
His partner rested his back against the side of the constricting passage, the large, canvas bag at his side. His clothes were now even darker from the perspiration that poured off his body. The leader had spread a letter-sized piece of paper on the floor of the passage and was intently examining its contents, looking up every few moments and shining his Maglite into one section of the darkness and then another.
“There,” he whispered, pointing into the darkness with his light. “Fifteen meters farther on. There will be metal beams forming a corner. That will be the first location.”
The other man nodded his head, pushed his body up from his seated position, grabbed the bag, and nearly dragged it behind him as he pushed farther along the passage.
Royal Palace, Amman
July 20, 12:32 p.m.
With a flutter of royal robes, King Abdullah stretched out his arms and reached toward the first of the two documents facing him on the table.
His heart racing, Israeli prime minister David Meir tried desperately to control his breathing and keep his hands steady. He hoped the perspiration he felt under his arms was not also visible on his face. Meir’s world came to a stop as King Abdullah took the ornate, gold-plated fountain pen—an identical twin sitting before each of the rulers at the table—hesitated for a moment and, with the flourish of a stage actor, inscribed his name and the power of his position to the Ishmael Covenant … peace in the Middle East.
Turning to his right, Abdullah caught Meir’s eyes and held his gaze. He held the document in his left hand and reached out his right toward the Israeli.
“Today, let us bury the past,” said Abdullah.
Meir accepted the handshake and then the treaty. “And let’s pray the past doesn’t follow us into the future.”
Meir felt the king’s hand stiffen. In the fleeting moment of a heartbeat, a hardness crossed the king’s face that made Meir feel as if he had been violated. The moment passed. Meir knew most of the civilized world was probably watching his every action.
Uncertain whether he would celebrate or regret his action, the prime minister of Israel took the pen before him and scrawled his name across the bottom of the page. May God help us now.